Memories
by Rainnboots
Summary: Staring at his rigid back, tight fists, and crestfallen face, Sam knew that it was just the beginning of one long journey. Post-NRFTW, Dean's alive and not-well.
1. Just Give It Time

**Author's Note:** Started this... I'm not sure how long ago, but it's been a little while. Thought up while I was thinking about what Dean would be like when he got back. Expect updates, for the most part, once a week until I actually finish the whole story, then I may start posting them closer together. But for right now, just one a week. And I'm going to finish this one! I just know it. I can feel it in my bones.

**Reviews: **Are, as always, loved. Constructive criticism, appreciated. Flames, I'm getting my salt gun.

**Disclaimer: **Well, in a perfect world, the following sentence would be a lie: I do not own Supernatural, all of it belongs to the amazing Kripke, and am not and will not be making any kind of profit of off this story.

* * *

Dean stared out the window, his pale face and his gaunt eyes showing all that he had been through. His jacket lay loose on his now skinny frame, his pants a size too big.

Dean was so different now that he wasn't dead.

Sam took a sideways glance at his brother, his hands tense on the steering wheel. He pulled into a parking lot over looking a lake, the bright moon reflecting off the water. He waited a moment, seeing if Dean would say anything, _praying_ he would, but Dean stayed completely silent.

"Dean?" Sam said softly. Dean turned his head, his eyes small and sad, tired and void of any light, the spark he used to have gone. Sam licked his lips, swallowing dryly.

"Are you okay?"

Dean would've laughed if it didn't hurt so much. He only stared, letting out a large breath. He shook his head slowly, then looked back out the windshield. That motion, that simple confession of truth, was all it took to break Sam's heart. Sam felt a tickling in the back of his throat but swallowed again, and turned the car back on. Sam fumbled through the cardboard box of tapes until he found what he was looking for: Kansas. He pushed the tape into the deck and "Perfect Lover" whined through the speakers. Sam looked at Dean out of the corner of his eye. Driving back in silence, with nothing but the Imapala's low rumbles and the whining vocals of Kansas, staring at his rigid back, tight fists, and crestfallen face, Sam knew it was just the beginning of one long journey.

Once they reached the motel, Dean got out the car without a word and walked to their room, sticking the key into the lock and turning it until the door opened. Sam followed close behind, shutting the door behind him as Dean walked to the bathroom.

"I'm thinking about picking up dinner," said Sam. "You want anything?"

The door closing was his only answer, and Sam sighed.

"I'll be back in about a half hour. I'll bring you back a burger."

The shower squeaked on and Sam swallowed one more time, the tickle back in his throat. He exited quietly, making sure the door was locked behind him before he closed the door.

Sam unlocked the motel room door and set the room key and the Imapala's keys onto the tiny kitchen table, placing the bag of Wendy's take-out next to it. The kitchenette and living room light switches were on, even the living room light, despite the fact that the light hadn't been working since they rented the motel room; the TV was playing an old black and white war movie, lound sounds of bombs being dropped and guns being fired coming from the living room.

"Dean, I'm back." said Sam. "I got you the jalapeno chese burger with extra onions that you like."

He pulled the foil-wrapped package out, the smell of warm fries quickly filling the room as the bag opened.

"Dean-"

Sam looked up from the food and to the beds, seeing a bundle near the pillows. He turned off the lone living room light, living just the lamp between the beds and the kitchenette light on, and saw Dean curled into an unnaturally tight, small ball while the blankets rested on his waist. The sight itself was strange, a grown man sleeping in such a child like manner, but to Sam, it was one more obstacle they would have to overcome to bring back the real Dean.  
A shirt Dean once filled out now hung limp on his body, almost half of his muscle now gone. His complexion was near that of a ghost, his skin ashy and dry and cracking. His hair was thin and brittle, longer then Dean would ever let it get. And Dean looked anything but peaceful, his face barely relaxed as his fingers began to curl into fists. He whimpered.

"Stop it." Dean whispered. "Just stop it. I don't remember anything anymore!"

Dean's voice elevated quickly, his face scrunched together. Sam's body flushed and he felt his hands lightly shaking.

"Why don't you believe me!? I can't remember! I don't know who I am anymore, I don't remember who I was!"

Dean was shouting, now, in such a way that made horrible images pop into Sam's mind. Sam reached his hand down, attempting to shake his brother awake.

"Dean, Dean, come on man, wake up-"

"LET GO!" Dean shouted, bolting up in the bed. He threw Sam's hand off him and Sam went stumbling into the other bed. Dean looked around the room wildly. His gaze fell upon Sam, and he scooted towards the headboard.

"Dean-"

"Who are you?" Dean demanded. "Which one are you? Why do you look like Sam?"

"Dean, it _is_ Sam-"

"No you're not! You are not my brother!" Dean shouted. "Where is he? What'd you do to him? Sam! SAM!"

"I swear it's me." said Sam. "You have to believe me, Dean."

"Where'd you put my brother?" asked Dean. "What'd you do?!"

"They didn't do anything to me, it's me." Sam pleaded, walking for the bed. Dean shot out from the bed, his back touching the wall as he backed away.

"Don't touch me!" Dean shouted. "Now tell me where Sam is!"

"I'm right here." Sam insisted, trying to get to his brother again.

"You're not Sam!" Dean shouted. Sam inched closer and Dean shoved him, forcing him back into the wall. He punched him and Sam was caught off guard at how weak his punches now were. Never the less, Sam fell to the ground, his lip swelling and blood slowly trickling down down his chin as Dean ran for the bathroom. The door slammed behind him and Sam heard gut-wrenching sobs emerging after a few dead silent moments. Loud thumps came from the bathroom as Dean pounded the side of his fists against the wall, his sobs now coming out in screams as the thumps continued. Silent tears ran down Sam's face, his body shaking and aching to comfort his brother, desperate to help him in some way. He heard a loud crack, that of a tile, but the pounding didn't stop. The sobs were now cries of pain and Dean was yelling for Sam, begging for him to come and help him. Save him.  
Sam heart literally ached at the sound, but he was too scared to do anything. He let his body slump uncomfortably against the wall as the pounding continued, and more painful cries and pleas for help continued to come from the bathroom.  
An hour crept past, and now it was just his sobs, worse then any that Sam had ever heard, that came from the bathroom. Sam slowly crawled for the door, pausing to wipe his tears away before gently knocking on the wood.

"D-Dean?" Sam called. "Dean, it's Sam. I swear it's me."

The sobbing stopped abruptly and it sounded as though Dean stopped breathing.

"C-Can, can I come in?"

There was silence, and the door finally cracked open, Dean's hazel eyes large and frightened, an emotion that Sam never thought Dean could feel. Dean let out a sigh of relief that came out as more of a whimper and opened the door just enough so he could grab Sam, pulling him tightly into his arms and shuffling him into the bathroom.

"Sam, oh God," said Dean. "I thought they killed you. There was one that looked just like you but he _wasn't_, Sam. It wasn't you."

"I know, Dean." said Sam. "But it's okay, it's me."

"What'd they do to you? Did they hurt you?" asked Dean, a hand pushing Sam's hair out of his face and running over his arms to check for injuries. Sam's eyes filled with tears; Dean would never stop worrying about him.

"I'm okay, Dean. They didn't hurt me." said Sam, taking Dean's hand to stop it from moving.

"Are you sure? They could've just-" Dean's worried eyes looked over his body.

"Really, Dean." said Sam. "I'm alright."

Dean's eyes filled with tears again and his head dropped as if he was ashamed.

"Hey, what's wrong?" said Sam. "I'm okay, now. They can't get us in here."

"But they got you." said Dean. "I'm supposed to protect but they got you and the one looked just like you..."

Sam stretched his arms around his shaking brother and Dean let the tears rolls onto his shirt, his face in Sam's shoulder.

"I'm sorry." Dean whispered.

"Shhh, you don't have to be." said Sam. "You didn't do anything wrong. You never did."

Sam took notice of the broken white tiles on the floor, seeing they were pounded off the wall. And blood, staining some of the porcelain and the floor and the wall. He pulled away from Dean gently and took his hands, seeing nothing but blood running along the side of one.

"I'm sorry." Dean whispered. His chin quivered.

"No, no, it's okay. I'll fix the tiles." said Sam. "It's alright. But I have to take care of the cut, okay?"

Dean nodded his head, using his free hand to wipe the tears from his face. Sam did the same before helping Dean up and turning on the hot and cold water, running his fingers under it until it was warm. He stuck Dean's hand under it and Dean winced.

"I know, but we need to clean it." said Sam. Dean sniffed. "I'll be back in a second; keep your hand under the water."

Sam rushed to find the first aid kit, bringing it back and turning off the faucet.

"See, it's not even that big of a cut." said Sam, looking at the small cut on Dean's hand. He took a hand towel he brought and wrapped it around Dean's hand, gently drying it off. He unscrewed the cap on the peroxide. He let some soak into the cotton ball, then set it on the counter

"This is gonna sting some." said Sam. Holding Dean's hand steady, he pressed the cotton ball onto the cut. Dean sighed, unfazed by the sting of the bubbles.

"Maybe it won't sting, then." Sam mumbled.

"Nothing really hurts anymore." Dean said nonchalantly, making Sam stare at him for a moment.

Sam lifted up the cotton ball to look at the wound, seeing white bubbles foaming around it. Once the bubbles stopped, he sat Dean down on the toilet lid and quickly went to work fixing the wound.

"I'm done." said Sam. Dean turned his hand, looking at the bandages, and yawned.

"Tired?" asked Sam. Dean nodded, his eyes droopy. "Let's get to bed."

"We can't go out there." said Dean.

"What?"

"We can't go out there. There's demons." said Dean.

"We can't sleep in here." said Sam.

"Why not?" asked Dean. Sam sighed.

"Look, I won't let anything get to you, okay?" said Sam. "Nothing's gonna hurt you anymore."

"But how do you _know_?" asked Dean.

"Because I won't let them." said Sam. Dean chewed on his lip.

"Fine." Dean said quietly. Sam nodded and opened the door, Dean standing up and slowly inching for the door.

"Nothing's out there." said Sam.

"They can be invisible." Dean said knowingly. Sam looked back at his brother, then walked out of the bathroom. Dean looked around the room, then hesitantly set his feet down onto the carpet. He paused, then took another step closer to the center of the room. He looked back to the bathroom with longing, but didn't move.

"You're safe, Dean." said Sam. "I promise."

Dean looked at Sam with trusting eyes, then walked slowly for his bed and sat down, letting out a deep breath and looking around the room. He grabbed the pillow off the floor and put in its proper place, then fixed the sheets and pulled them over himself. Sam pulled off his jeans, jacket, and sweatshirt before turning off the light in the kitchen and the TV.

Surely, Dean thought, Sam would leave a light on.

But as Dean closed his eyes, the lamp turned off and he screamed. The lightly quickly turned back on and Sam looked at Dean with wide eyes. Dean swallowed.

"It was always dark," said Dean. "So dark. And quiet. Never any sound..."

Sam silently went around the room, turning on the both light switches and the TV, the war movie over and uSullivan's Travels/u playing at the same, loud level.

"Not dark and quiet anymore, right?" asked Sam. Dean shook his head, his body in the tight ball again as he clutched the blanket. Sam rested his head against his pillow and looked at Dean, his eyes on the TV.

"Dean?" said Sam. Dean looked up.

"Goodnight." said Sam, smiling a little. Dean said nothing, only stared at him until he decided the TV would be more entertaining. Sam watched the movie, looking at Dean every now and then until finally, Dean's eyes closed and his hands relaxed. Sam let his eyes close, fatigue washing over him, and gratefully let sleep take over him.

Time; that was all they needed. Just time.

* * *

Love it with all you have? Despise it with every fiber of your being? Leave a review and let me know! I'd love to hear what you think.


	2. South Diploma

**Authors Note:** Chapter 2!! Whoo!!

**Reviews: **Always loved

**Disclaimer:** My name is Riley and I do not own_ Supernatural_. Whoo, that was hard.

* * *

Sam awoke to the sound of the shower and the TV. Stretching, he wondered why Dean could need another shower after taking one just last night.  
He slid his legs over the side and stretched his arms before walking to the table, finding Dean's burger wrapper shoved into an empty fry box, and the other fry box half empty. Unwrapping his own burger, he took a large bite then sipped at his warm, watery Coke.  
The shower turned off and Sam waited, hearing only faint sounds coming from the bathroom as Dean got dressed. The door opened after a few minutes, Sam taking the last bite of his burger, and Dean walked out. His skin was the first thing Sam noticed: Red, sore-looking, and raw. It wasn't like that last night.

"Morning." said Sam. Dean jumped, his head quickly whipping backwards. His shoulders lowered as he relaxed a little, seeing Sam instead of a demon.

"Sorry," Sam apologized. Dean shook his head as Sam walked towards him.

"What happened?" asked Sam, grabbing Dean's arm and running his hand over the skin. It was rubbery, and he couldn't get his hand to glide smoothly over it like he used to.

Dean's eyes dropped to the ground, and Sam gently lowered his arm.

"It's okay," said Sam. "I don't have to know."

"I can still feel it. Hell, right on me. And all the blood and the dirt and the ashes," said Dean. He quickly shook his head. "I just want to get rid of it."

Sam stayed silent while Dean searched through his bag, the silence broken by Sam's cellphone ringing.

"Hello?" said Sam, Dean staring at him. "Oh, hi Bobby. We're doing okay, you?"

"We're Kansas City right now." said Sam. "What's today, Sunday? Yeah, we could get there by Tuesday night. Okay, see you then. Bye."

Sam tucked his phone back into his pocket and looked at Dean, seeing the confused look on his face.

"Who was that?" asked Dean.

"Bobby." said Sam.

"Who's that again?" Dean asked hesitantly. Sam opened his mouth, then shut it. Dean probably didn't remember.

"Bobby's was a good friend of Dad's," said Sam. "A good friend of iours/i. I might have a picture..."

Sam sat down on his bed, pulling his bag out from underneath and picking through. He took out a small stack of old, worn photos and quickly flipped through them.

"That's Bobby," said Sam, holding the photo up to Dean. "In the red cap. The pictures a little old, but he hasn't changed much."

Dean took the picture from Sam and sat next to him on the bed, staring intently at the picture.

"He doesn't look happy." Dean stated. Sam snorted.

"Well, it was four in the morning and we'd been up all night doing-" Sam stopped, knowing if he had said they'd been researching a demon, Dean would panic.

"Doing what?" asked Dean. Sam shook his head.

"I don't remember, really. We'd just been up." Sam lied, then continued. "Then you happend to find a camera and decided to piss us both off with it."

Dean looked back at the picture and then at the stack in Sam's hands.

"Can I look at those?" asked Dean.

"Sure," said Sam. Dean took the stack and flipped through the picture, taking his time to study each one as Sam gathered up their things. As Sam threw their food from last night in the trash, Dean furrowed his eyebrows at a picture, thinking hard.

"Who's this?" asked Dean, turning a photo around for Sam to see. Sam turned his head and smiled lightly.

"That's Jessica." said Sam.

"Who's Jessica?" asked Dean.

"She was my girlfriend." said Sam. "Almost four years ago."

"What happened to her?"

Sam sighed. "She was killed, in a house fire."

"Sorry." Dean said quietly. Sam shook his head.

"It's not your fault." said Sam.

Dean shrugged. "Where are we going?"

"Bobby's house." said Sam.

"Why?" asked Dean.

"He invited us." said Sam.

"How come?"

"He hasn't seen us in a while, thinks we should come over and relax at his house for a while."

"Where does he live?"

"South Dakota."

"Where's that?"

"It's a state away, Northwest."

"Where are we?"

"Missouri."

"Where?"

Sam pulled a map off the bedside table and laid it on the bed next to Dean, then scanned the United States. He let his finger rest on Missouri.

"We're right here." said Sam. He slid his finger up to South Dakota. "That's where we're going."

Dean leaned over the map. "How far away from Hell are we?"

"What?" asked Sam, taken aback from the question.

"I don't see Hell on the map." said Dean, not looking up from the paper, tinted yellow with age. "Where is it? How do we know it's not in South Diploma?"

"South Dakota."

"South Dakota. How do we know it's not in Missouri?"

"Well, we don't, exactly. But Hell's not on Earth."

"Then where is it?" asked Dean. "Is it in Space?"

"No." said Sam.

"Well?" asked Dean.

Sam sighed. "I don't know where it is, but I know for a fact it's not here on Earth, and you don't have to worry about going back. I won't let you."

"That's what you say." Dean muttered. "You don't know what it's like. They can do things nobody else can."

Sam chewed on his cheeks while his brother pored over the map, flipping to the back so he could see the entire world. Sam continued packing, grabbing a Ziploc bag out his own and walking to the bathroom to get their toothbrushes.

"Is the world really this flat?" Dean asked curiously. Sam had to laugh out loud at the naivness of Dean's question, and the child like look of inocence on his face. He shook his head.

"No, it's not. It's round, like a ball."

"Then how come they make it look that way?"

"The point of a map is to show you where things are, and this map tells you where every contient is. So in order to show them all, they have to make it flat."

"Oh," said Dean, nodding. "So you can't fall off?"

"Not from what I've learned, no." said Sam.

"But what if you're at the bottom? Wouldn't you fall?"

"The world spins, really really really _really_ fast, as it circles the sun." said Sam. "And all the spinning creates centrifigul force, which keeps us all on the Earth."

"That doesn't make sense." said Dean. "Why don't we feel it spinning?"

"Because it spins that fast." said Sam.

Dean sighed, obviously not pleased with the answer, but not pushing the topic any further.

"You ready?" asked Sam, slinging his bag onto his shoulder. Dean folded the map back up and pulled on his jacket, giving Sam back the pictures and picking up his bag. He looked around the room.

"I think so." said Dean. "What about the tiles?"

Sam shook his head. "Leave 'em. Come on, if we leave now we should be able to get to Bobby's by lunch tomorrow."

* * *

Do we really need to go over this again? Leave a review please!!


	3. Lunchtime At Bobby's

**Author's Note:** Please excuse the uninteresting-ness of this chapter; it's merely a filler I needed to keep the story moving a long. The next chapter is better, I promise!

**Reviews:** Keep me writing.

**Disclaimer:** I do (not) own Supernatural, I always will (not), and that is (not) the truth.

* * *

Sam pulled onto the crunchy road of Bobby's driveway, Dean staring out at all the cars through his window.

"Are all these cars his?" asked Dean.

"No, he's a mechanic. He fixes them up." said Sam. "Well, some of them. Others he takes apart and sells."

Bobby walked out of the front door, his face scruffy and his ball cap still on, and Sam parked the car.

"Sam, good to see ya." said Bobby, reaching to give Sam a hug after he got out of the car.

"Good to see you too, Bobby." said Sam. Dean stared at the two of them, unsure of what to do as he walked around the car.

"Dean," said Bobby, shocked at the skinny frame that now stood in front of him. "You look... different."

"I do?" asked Dean.

"Well, not really." said Bobby. "Guess I'm just not used to seeing you."

Dean kicked the ground with his food.

"It's great to see ya again." said Bobby, pulling him into a tight hug. Dean froze, eyes staring at Sam, and Sam opened his mouth.

"Why don't we have some lunch," said Sam. "Bobby?"

Bobby pulled away from Dean and looked at Sam.

"Oh, right," said Bobby. "Get your stuff and I'll put some sandwiches together."

Bobby walked into the house as the boys grabbed their bags.

"He's wearing the same hat he was in the picture." said Dean. "Doesn't he have anymore?"

Sam chuckled.

"No, just the one."

**--**

"And this was your room." said Sam, pushing open a door. Dean stepped in and looked around, seeing old band posters and trinkets lying around. He set his bag down and walked slowly to the bed, fingering the worn comforter as he sat down. He shook his head.

"I don't remember." said Dean.

"It's okay," said Sam. "It'll just take time."

"I don't like waiting." said Dean.

Sam let out a breath. "You want to watch some TV while I help Bobby? The set's downstairs in the living room."

Dean nodded and stood up, following Sam through the hall and back down the stairs.

Sam flipped through the channels for a little while, finally stopping on an uI Love Lucy/u rerun.

"You might like this," said Sam. "It's funny."

"What is it?" asked Dean.

"I Love Lucy."

"Do you like it?" asked Dean.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Okay." said Dean, pushing his shoes off and sitting on the couch. His eyes fixed onto the TV and he tuned out.

**--**

"It's weird, you know?" said Sam, putting a piece of lettuce in his mouth. "He's here but, he's not."

"Dean spent almost seven months in Hell, Sam. It changes a man." said Bobby.

"I know," said Sam. "It's just... he's _so_ affected by it. Last night, I came home from getting dinner and he punched me because he thought I was a demon pretending to be me. He can't sleep without the lights and the TV on; he can just remember you. He can't remember how to drive... Bobby he doesn't even remember how to tie his own shoes. It's like he's seven years old again."

"Hell can make ya forget things like that. He's lucky to remember his own name, let alone you."

"Yeah..." Sam pulled the wrapper off a slice of cheese, squishing it against the mustard-soaked bread.

"SAM!"

Sam looked up at Bobby, who had a worried expression on his face. Sam rushed to the living room while Bobby grabbed a shotgun.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, rounding the door frame. Dean was sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his fists, slumping forward as he watched.

"What's a 'telephone'?" Dean asked, looking up from the TV.

Sam blinked. "What?"

"The woman said she's gonna use the 'telephone'." said Dean.

"You know what a telephone is, remember?" said Sam. Bobby appeared behind Sam, the shotgun behind his back, but Sam shook his head. "It's like what I have to talk to people with."

"But you said that was a _cell_phone." Dean corrected, Bobby walking back to the kitchen.

"Yes, that's true, but they're the same thing. Except a telephone stays in a house, cellphones you can take in your car or when you go for a walk."

"How come it can only stay in a house?" asked Dean.

"Because it won't work unless it's in a house."

"How come?"

"It needs to have power, so it needs to be plugged in."

"Then how come cellphones don't need to be plugged in all the time?"

"They have batteries."

"What are those?"

"Boys! Lunch!"

* * *

Reviews are the best!


	4. Sea Creatures and Metal Likuh

**Author's Note:** Hola readers! So, I was _slightly_ disappointed by lack of reviews for the last chapter, but here's me trying to get some more. Longer, much more entertaining chapter (in my opinion) than the last; hoping y'all will feel the same way.

**Reviews:** Are my crack.

**Disclaimer: **I only own my two Foreigner t-shirts. Not the boys. Never will. **pout**

* * *

Sam stared at Dean, chewing slowly as he marveled over Dean's ability to scarf down his sandwich before Sam even finished half.

"You seem to remember how to inhale your food, then." said Bobby as a mayo covered tomato slid out of the bottom of Dean's sandwich. He opened up the sandwich, placed it back in, and fininshed the rest in four bites. He drained his lemonade then wiped his mouth on his hand.

"That was _really_ good." said Dean, breathing deeply. "What's it called?"

"A sandwich." said Bobby, smiling into his cup. "You want another one?"

"I can have more then one?" said Dean. Bobby chuckled, nodding. Dean smiled.

"I'll go fix it for you." said Bobby.

Dean looked around the room, studying the books and the bags and the old furniture.

"Why does he have so many books?" asked Dean.

"He reads them." said Sam.

"_All_ of them?" said Dean.

"I think so." said Sam.

"But they're huge." said Dean.

"Some books are like that." said Sam.

"What are they about?" asked Dean.

"Lots of different things."

"Like what?"

"Well, um..." Sam began, trying to think up an excuse. But thankfully, he was saved by Bobby setting a plate in front of Dean.

"I cut it into halves for you so it'll be easier to eat." said Bobby, but Dean didn't seem to notice. Bobby picked up the bottle of lemonade and poured it into Dean's glass. Dean licked mustard of his finger, his back still rigid as he did so.

"How come you sit up so straight, Dean?" asked Bobby.

"In case I have to run." said Dean.

"Run?" asked Sam. "Run from what?"

"Demons."

"Why would you need to run from the demons?" asked Bobby.

"They made me." said Dean, talking as though nothing was horribly wrong with the conversation. "A lot, sometimes. One time, they made me run a hundred miles. I stopped after twenty-seven and-" Dean stopped abruptly, both Sam and Bobby leaning in towards him, and Dean went back to eating. The two hunters exchanged looks.

"Wha' ah ahl or 'oooks 'out?" Dean asked, his mouth full.

"What?" said Bobby. Dean swallowed.

"What are all your books about?"

"Oh, just different stuff." said Bobby.

"Like what?"

Bobby stared at Dean for a moment, his eyes turning to Sam. Sam shrugged, unsure of what to do.

"Demons." said Bobby. Dean's eyes widened.

"W-What?" said Dean.

"They're almost all about demons; all the different kinds. What they look like, what they do, how to kill them. Those sorts of things."

"Why do have books about demons? Why would you want books like that? Sam?" Dean looked at his brother.

"Because I hunt them."

"WHAT?!" Dean shot up from his chair and backed himself against the couch.

"I hunt demons. Your dad was a hunter, Sam, iyoui. You all were hunters." said Bobby. "Up until the very second you died."

Dean shook his head, refusing the believe the words that were being said to him.

"Why would I do that? Why would I go and ifind/i demons?" Dean asked, his tone panicky. "I wouldn't do that!"

"Dean," Sam began.

"Sam I want to leave." said Dean.

"Dean, it's alright-"

"No it's not! I want to leave!" said Dean. "I don't like it here!"

"Dean, just listen."

"I want to LEAVE!" Dean shouted.

Sam sighed.

"We're safer here then we are anywhere else." said Sam. "Bobby won't hurt us, and neither of us will let anything happen to you. The demons aren't going to get you again, Dean. You have to trust me."

Dean swallowed and looked between the two men, unsure what to believe. He took off for the stairs, taking them three at a time, and slammed a bedroom door behind him. Bobby sighed.

"I'm sorry," said Bobby. "I just thought maybe if we told him we used to hunt them, he would think we'd be able to protect him."

Sam shook his head.

"It's okay." said Sam.

"Are you?" asked Bobby.

Sam looked at him, then shrugged.

"I don't know, Bobby." said Sam. "Everything's just so... God it's different."

"It's gonna be that way for a while." said Bobby.

"I know." said Sam.

"You know you're welcome to stay as long as you need to. I got nobody else around here to talk to otherwise."

"Thanks Bobby." said Sam. He grabbed Dean's plate and lemonade. "I'm gonna go take this to him."

**--**

Sam knocked on Dean's closed door.

"Dean? It's Sam."

"Are we leaving?" Dean called through the door.

"No."

"Then go away."

Sam sighed.

"I brought you your sandwich and lemonade." said Sam.

"I'm not hungry."

"Dean, don't lie."

"You lied to me." said Dean.

"About what?" asked Sam.

"About Bobby."

"How did I lie to you about Bobby?"

"You said he was a _friend_. Why would we have a friend who hunts demons?"

"Because _we_ hunted demons."

"Why don't I remember that?"

"Why don't you remember how to tie your shoes?"

Dean was silent, the floor squeaking as he shifted his weight.

"Can I please just come in?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're a liar, and I don't want a liar in my bedroom."

"If we're talking about being a liar, you lied to me a minute ago about not being hungry and we both know that's not true." said Sam.

There was silence from the other side of the door.

"Well, fine, don't let me in. But I'm leaving your sandwich and lemonade in front of the door, if you want it." said Sam, placing both items on the dusty hardwood. He waited a moment, then walked back down the stairs.

**--**

Dean stared at the door as he listened to the floor squeak beneath Sam's feet, waiting until he was clunking down the stairs before getting slowly up from his bed and tip-toeing to the door. He got on his knees and carefully pulled the door open, looking up and down the hall before snatching his sandwich and lemonade and pulling it back into his bedroom. He ate his sandwich quickly, but left his lemonade.

He stood up and ran his fingers over the posters, desperately trying to pull a memory from his mind's deep grasp.

"Metal.. likuh?" Dean muttered, staring at the letters on the poster and then at the four men that graced the top. Long haired, scruffy, almost scary looking men. Definately demonic.

Dean shuddered then looked at the next poster over, one with a giant black number 4 on it and a gray backround, FOREIGNER in red at the top.

Foreigner. Sam had told him about them, said he loved them and their music. Dean sighed, still not remembering.

He went over a few more, though they were nothing more then names, until he landed on one marked KANSAS.

Dean stared intently, looking at the ship at the edge of a waterfall in the circle, a sea creature around it. Then it hit him.

Lawrence, the house, the fire, carrying out a baby, everything the demon's showed him, what that man said about some woman named Mary... That was _him_. That was _his_ life.

Dean pounded down the stairs at top speed, running through the house until he found Bobby sitting at a desk hunched over a computer and Sam behind him.

"Dean?" said Sam, looking up from the screen.

"Where's a map?" Dean asked. "Do you have one? You have to have a map, right? You go must go places sometimes and you need a map to know how to get there-"

"Dean, slow down." said Sam. "Start over."

"Do. You. Have. A. Map!?" said Dean, annoyance in his voice.

"They're in the third drawer in the cabinet-" said Bobby, starting to stand up.

"This one?" asked Dean, walking over to a tall gray file cabinet.

"Yeah, but I think it might be-"

Dean yanked open the small drawer and searched through the maps. All kinds of maps; old ones, new ones, laminated ones, ripped ones, small ones, big ones, but none of them was the one he needed.

"New Jersey, no. Ohio, no. Denver, no." Dean mumbled, tossing them onto the floor. Finally, he pulled out a map marked KANSAS and rushed to the desk, laying it out flat over Bobby's keyboard.

"Dean, what are you doing-"

"Shut up!" said Dean, searching the map. He swatted Sam's hand away and continued looking.

"Where is it?" said Dean. "Where is it?!"

"Where's what?" asked Sam.

Dean ignored him, his eyes still scanning the map.

Lawrence. Right next to Topeka almost on the edge of the map.

"We need to go there." said Dean, his finger pointing to LAWRENCE.

"What? Dean, you need to calm down." said Sam. "I can't even see where you're pointing.

"Lawrence! We need to go to Lawrence!" said Dean.

Sam opened his mouth, then looked at Bobby.

"Why do you need to go to Lawrence?" asked Bobby, his eyes moving from Sam to Dean.

"Because..."

Bobby raised his eyebrows.

"I was looking at the poster in the bedroom," said Dean. "And it had a ship on it and some lizard thing and a waterfall-"

"What does this have to do with Kansas?" asked Bobby, standing at the head of the desk.

"I don't know." said Dean. "I don't know what it means, or why I know we need to go to Lawrence but we _have to go._"

Bobby looked at Sam again, and Dean's eyes flicked tensely between them.

"What's happened?" asked Dean, his tone fast and worried. "Why do I remember all this? What does it mean?"

"You should sit, Dean." said Sam.

"I don't want to s-"

"Dean, come on. In the living room." said Sam, pulling on his arm to get him to walk to the next room. He sat Dean on a couch and plopped next to him, Bobby sitting in a chair next to him. Bobby leaned forward in his arm chair.

"Just what exactly do you remember, Dean?"

* * *

Review, review, review!


	5. The Devil Strikes Back

**Author's Note:** Hello again, readers! A big thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed, and the few who've favorited. I appreciate it so much!! This chapter's the longest out of the bunch so far (I think...), and not for people who are sick of tortured!Dean.

**Reviews:** Are the best!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural. Or Star Wars. Or a Camero. Or an Impala.

* * *

"And that's it

"And that's it. Just watching the fire burn." said Dean, finished with his story. He looked expectantly between Sam and Bobby, the expression on their faces unreadable.

"What happened that night?" asked Dean. "Did someone cause the fire?"

"Some_thing_." said Bobby. "It was a demon; the Yellow-Eyed Demon."

"They told me about him." said Dean. "They said because I killed him, that means they would just torture me even more. How could I have killed him? Why don't I remember? How do you even kill a demon?"

"It's a long story, Dean, that takes you remembering everything else to understand." said Bobby. Dean sighed.

"I just want to remember." Dean groaned, letting his head rest against the back of the couch. He closed his eyes.

"So... our mom, she's dead?" asked Dean.

"She died in the fire the demon started." Sam said quietly.

"And what about our dad?"

"Yeah." said Sam.

"How did he die?" asked Dean.

"You wouldn't understand if I told you." said Sam.

"How do you know?" asked Dean.

"Dad sold his soul to Yellow-Eyes for you because of the car accident."

"...Okay you're right." said Dean. "But what does that mean, 'he sold his soul'?"

"Just that." said Bobby. "He traded his life for yours."

Dean sat up, staring at Bobby. "He went to Hell for me?"

Bobby nodded.

"Did he know what he was doing?" asked Dean. "Why would anyone do that?"

"_You_ did that." said Bobby. Dean's mouth opened and his eyes widened.

"I _what?_"

"You sold your soul." said Sam. "For me."

Dean stared at Sam.

"It was stupid, really." said Sam. "I don't know why you did it. I shouldn't be alive right now."

"Your my little brother, Sam. I'm supposed to take care of you." said Dean. Bobby smiled softly; no matter how ignorant Dean became, he would never forget his love for his brother.

"Thanks, Dean." Sam said.

"You owe me, big time." said Dean.

"Jerk."

"What? Why am I jerk?" asked Dean. "What's a 'jerk' anyway?"

"No, see, you're supposed to call me a 'bitch'." said Sam.

"'Bitch'? I think the demons said I was their 'bitch' once. What's that mean? Why do I call you that?" asked Dean. Sam shook his head.

"Nothing, Dean. Just nothing."

"But if it's nothing, then why am I-"

"Dean," said Sam. "It doesn't matter."

"Fine." Dean said in a huff. He laid back on the chair. "When are we leaving?"

"What do you mean?'

"When are we leaving for Lawrence?"

Sam opened his mouth, looking at Bobby; he shrugged.

"I've got to fix up my Camero, but that should only take about three days." said Bobby.

"Three days?" said Dean, annoyance on his face.

"That's not that long, Dean." said Sam.

"That's 72 hours, Sam. _72_." Dean sighed loudly.

"And hey, maybe being some place we went to a lot when we were younger will help bring back your memory."

"Fine." Dean mumbled. Dean looked at Bobby. "Shouldn't you be working on your car."

"Don't think that just because you can't remember anything means that you can act all smart-ass." said Bobby, standing up and walking to the door. He let the old screen door slam behind him and Sam leaned back in his chair.

"So, we came here a lot?" asked Dean. Sam nodded.

"We would stay here when we were little, when Dad thought a hunt was too dangerous. Here or Pastor Jim's; whoever was closer."

"Who?" asked Dean.

"Pastor Jim, he's another hunter. Sometimes Dad would just want to stay there and not hunt, he usually didn't talk much when he did that." Sam frowned, then shrugged. "Guess we all need a break sometimes."

Dean rubbed his hands through his hair, bent forward in his chair.

"You should go see if Bobby needs any help." said Sam.

"Why?" asked Dean.

"You love fixing up cars." said Sam. "You did it whenever you could."

"I did?" said Dean. Lines appeared on his forehead as he thought. "Was I good at it?'

"You were really good at it. Great." said Sam. "You basically rebuilt the Impala from scratch, all on your own."

"_Re_built?" said Dean. "That means I built it again, right?"

Sam nodded.

"Why did I have to build it again?"

"We were in a car accident, and the car was totaled."

"Totaled?"

"It means you can't drive it. And you built it up again, got all the parts and just built."

Dean nodded slowly. "I don't remember."

"You will." said Sam, patting his shoulder as he walked by Dean's chair. "But really, he'd probably be glad to let you help."

"Okay."

**--**

"You're gonna wanna roll up your sleeves." Bobby told Dean from beneath a beat-up Camero. Dean rolled his sleeves up as the late afternoon sun beat down on his back.

"Hand me the socket wrench, will you?"

Dean stared at the tool box.

"Which one?"

"The socket wrench, Dean."

"...Which one?"

Bobby sighed loudly, sliding out from beneath the car. He stood up and pulled the socket wrench from the top of the tool box.

"Socket wrench." said Bobby, holding it up for Dean to see. Dean nodded.

"I don't remember that."

"Do you remember any of the tools?"

Dean peered inside the box, biting his lip in concentration. He pulled out a hammer.

"It's a hammer." said Dean. "You use it to it hammer nails into things."

"Exactly." said Bobby. "Anything else?"

"I'm not sure what this is, but I saw a demon use it to stab somebody's eyes out once." said Dean, holding up a long Phillip's-head screwdriver. Bobby cringed.

"That's a Phillip's-head; a screwdriver. You use it to twist screws into holes."

"Got it."

"Anything else?"

Dean looked at the tools.

"Nope."

Bobby sighed. "Well, that's a problem."

"Flat-head." said Dean, looking at the tool Bobby held up. "C-clamp. Mallet. Nail gun. Screw gun. Ratchet. Phillip's. Wrench. Pipe wrench. Hammer."

Bobby held up another tool, Dean's eyes narrowing in concentration.

"Um..." Dean pressed a hand to his forehead. "It's a... riveter?"

Bobby nodded. Dean smiled.

"Well, that's all of 'em." said Bobby.

"Can we start on the cars now?" Dean asked eagerly.

"We could, but it's 9:30 and I'm eating." said Bobby.

"Oh," said Dean, instantly deflating. "Okay."

"There's still tomorrow. I'll let you help me with my Camero." said Bobby.

Dean nodded. "Can we have sandwiches again?"

Bobby snorted.

"Sure."

**--**

"I'm getting to bed." said Bobby, his chair pushing back as he stood up. "I'm gonna try 'n get up early to work on the Camero."

"I'm get to help too, right?" said Dean, munching on a month old Oreo he found in Bobby's pantry.

"Sure." said Bobby, rinsing his plate off.

Dean smiled to himself, stuffing the rest of his cookie into his mouth.

"'Night." said Bobby, walking to his bedroom.

"'Night." said Sam.

"Goodnight!" Dean shouted, the door closing. Dean licked his fingers free of the soggy cookie residue, then looked at Sam.

"You wanna watch a movie?" Sam asked. Dean shrugged.

"Which one?"

"Uh... hold on." Sam got up and moved to the living room, standing by a bookcase and running his fingers along a shelf.

"The Empire Strikes Back?" asked Sam.

"What's that?" Dean asked.

"Star Wars, episode five." said Sam. "It was our favorite movie when we were younger."

"When we were younger?"

"Yeah, we knew like every line. We would pretend we were Luke and Han."

"Han?" Dean laughed. "What kinda name is that?"

"Yours." said Sam. Dean's laughter stopped.

"Let's watch it." said Sam, pulling the VHS out of the box and pushing it into Bobby's VCR.

**--**

Dean's eyes were wide as Sam turned off the TV, his mouth half-open. Sam scoffed.

"You liked it?" asked Sam.

"That was amazing." Dean said breathlessly. "Wow."

"Yeah, it's pretty good." said Sam.

"It's way more then 'pretty good'."

Sam stretched his arms and looked at his watch.

"Jeez, it's already 12:30." Sam yawned. "I'm getting to bed. You gonna be down here?"

"No, I think I'll go to bed too."

Dean and Sam found their proper places in their room, both boys quickly changing and getting to bed.

Dean stared at the ceiling, a feeling of something missing eating away at his stomach.

"Oh, right." Dean slipped out of bed and into Sam's room.

"Sam?" Dean whispered.

"Dean? Is that you?" Sam whispered back.

"Yeah." Dean replied.

"Is something wrong?"

"No."

"What?"

"What what?"

"What'd you come in here for?"

"Goodnight." Dean whispered, his smile evident through his words.

"Goodnight."

The door clicked close and Sam settled back into his pillow, a little happier then before.

**--**

Sam rubbed his face, curious as to what had woken him up. Then he heard it: quiet, subtle moaning through the wall. Louder, subtle moaning through the wall. A thump and a whimper. Enough to go investigate.

Sam pushed the covers off and pulled open his door, walking the few feet to Dean's. He pushed it open and blinked to try and get his eyes to focus.

"Dean?" Sam whispered. He cleared his throat and tried again, a little louder. "Dean? You awake?"

Dean whimpered again, his body tangled in a mass of sheets. "I don't want to, no I don't..."

"Dean, come on, it's just a nightmare." said Sam, walking to the bed and shaking Dean. "You just have to wake up."

"Let me go, it hurts!" Dean whined. "Stop!"

"Come on, man. wake up." Sam shook Dean again. "Open your eyes and see that it's just me."

"Don't talk about him like that!" said Dean, his eyes closed as he began kicking off his blankets. "Don't talk about him like that!"

Dean began to move, legs snaking out of their binds.

"Wake up, Dean!" said Sam, shaking him forcefully. Dean wouldn't open his eyes. "It's a nightmare. Wake **up**!"

Dean pushed Sam, Sam falling back onto the dresser and knocking down a mound of old cassette tapes.

"Dean, you need to wake up!" said Sam. He heard pounding up the steps; Bobby.

"Sam?" called Bobby. "You alright up there?"

"Dean's having a nightmare and he won't wake up." said Sam. Bobby walked into the room, Dean shouting as he did so.

"I'm not TELLING you! No! I won't!" Dean shot out of the bed. Bobby grabbed his shoulders.

"Dean, you need to wake up." said Bobby, his voice low but his tone sharp. "It's a nightmare, none of it's real. Just wake up."

"Let go of me!" said Dean, shaking Bobby's arms off.

"Listen to me, boy. You're dreaming, wake up." said Bobby.

"It's Sam, Dean. You need to wake up." said Sam.

"No, no, NO!" Dean screamed, his eyes half-open as he stumbled around the room.

"Dean, it's Sam-"

"LET ME GO!" Dean's arm swung around and collided with Sam's head, sending him stumbling into the wall. Dean ran for the door and groped for the handle, finally flinging it open and leaving the room.

"You okay?" Bobby asked Sam.

"Yeah, just go." said Sam, rubbing his head. "He's gonna hurt himself!"

Bobby took off after Dean, Sam waiting for the room to stop spinning before he followed.

"Don't touch me!" Dean roared. "You said you'd stop! I screamed now STOP IT!"

Sam ran into the living room and found Dean wrestling with Bobby, eyes still not open.

"Sam!" said Bobby. "Open the closet; the keys on the top shelf in the back."

"What?"

"Just do it!"

Sam quickly went to work, throwing boxes off the shelf in search of the key. He reached his hand to the back, finally feeling the cool crevices, and emerged from the closet. Bobby fought Dean into the closet and shut it behind him, locking the closet and setting a chair against the doorknob.

"Bobby, what are you-"

"He's got to calm himself down, Sam. He's gonna kill himself." said Bobby. Sorrow and pain was in his eyes, the lines on his face deeper then usual. Dean screams of resistance quickly turned to cries for help, loud banging coming from the door.

"Bobby, I think we can-"

"Just let him wear himself out, Sam. It's killing me too but we have to let him." Bobby's hand clapped Sam on the shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Sam's heart ached as he listened to Dean screaming, pounding on the door as he tried to get out.

"Let me OUT!" Dean screamed. "I want to get out! I can't see anything, it's too dark, open the door! PLEASE!"

Bobby sighed sadly. "He'll stop soon, Sam. He's too tired to keep this up for long."

Sam shook his head. "Just go."

Bobby frowned at him. "Sam-"

"Bobby," said Sam, his voice threatening low. "_Go_."

Bobby let the hand on Sam's shoulder drop to his side, staring at Sam a moment longer.

"Here's the key." said Bobby, holding out the tiny brass object to Sam. Sam took it, eyes never leaving Bobby's. Bobby walked to his bedroom, the door closing soundlessly behind him.

Sam took a seat beside the closet door, feeling the beat of Dean's fists against the walls and door.

Sam's silent cries fell into the room, tears spilling down his cheeks as he pressed his hands against his face.

"LET ME OUT!"

* * *


	6. What Man Is This?

**Author's Note:** Hello again, readers! How are you today? It's time for another chapter of... _Memories!_ Yay!

**Reviews:** Are ice cold, fresh lemonade and chocolate chip cookies on a hot summer day.

**Disclaimer:** ...Fine. _I don't own anything._

* * *

"Sam, Sam please... Where are you? Let him go! Leave him alone!"

Sam jolted awake, shocked that he could have fallen asleep with Dean screaming in the backround. He checked his watch and saw **3:47 **illuminated. Sam listened for the feel of pounding fists, of desperate yelling; nothing.

"Sam... Come back, please, just come back. Please it's so dark..." Dean's sobbing floated through the door, Sam searching the ground for the key and shoving the chair aside. It made a loud clack as it hit the floor, and the sobbing stopped.

"...Hello?" Dean whispered. "Sam?"

Sam pulled open the door, revealing a red eyed and frazzled looking Dean. Dean stared at him from his spot huddled in the corner, his eyes wide in fear.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, it's me." Sam said softly. Tears welled in Dean's eyes.

"What happened? Why am I in here? Sam where _are_ they?" Dean whispered, tears threatening to fall again. Sam crawled to the back of the closet, his hands slipping on the coats and papers that Dean had knocked down, and sat in front of Dean.

"Dean, it's okay." said Sam. "It's okay; they're not here. All the demons are gone."

Dean shook his head quickly. "No, they're still there. I know it."

"I promise, Dean. There aren't anymore. Bobby and I got rid of them all. You're safe."

Dean looked at Sam, his eyes unsure as they glanced out the door.

"I'll keep you safe."

Dean nodded hesitantly, helping himself up with his hands. "You're sure?"

Sam nodded. "I'm sure."

Sam lead Dean out, Dean huddling next to Sam as he looked nervously around the house.

"Think you can sleep in here by yourself?" Sam asked as he walked into Dean's room.

Dean swallowed.

"Yeah." said Dean. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Okay," said Sam. "Goodnight."

"'Night."

Dean climbed into bed as Sam closed the door, slipping beneath the covers and shutting his eyes tightly. Fatigue quickly claimed him and he feel right asleep.

**--**

_Dean looked over his shoulder, feet aching and stinging as he ran over the sharp gravel, the bright moon shining over the seemingly peaceful country side._

_Dean's eyes took notice of a tree; hadn't he passed that? Yes, he did, five minutes ago. Was it five minutes ago? Or was it five hours? Was it even five anything?_

_"Keep running, bitch! Gotta be my perfect little soldier!" Dean winced as the sharp, burning poker caught his pack, and for a second he forgot about his lungs that burnt for oxygen. He felt wet blood on his feet, his pajama pants soaked through from the rain some while ago, his gray shirt and hair sticking to him with hot sweat. Then there was the rock, that large rock Dean never saw and always tripped on, but this time he remembered and jumped right over. Then there was the poker again, white-hot and burning a hole straight through his back. Dean gasped in pain, falling to his knees and vomiting. Tears hit the ground and Dean was kicked onto his back, arching his back as his new wound burnt._

_John's eyes glowed red, and devil-like smile on his face._

_"Get up!" he ordered, in a voice Dean had never heard. Dean struggled, then collapsed, too weary and exhausted to go on. John's face grew angered then quickly morphed, changing to a short blond. Meg._

_Dean remembered he hated that bitch._

_"I said," her voice menacing before growing loud. "GET UP!"_

**--**

Dean's eyes shot open, sweat on his forehead as his heart raced.

_Still in your room. Still in your room. The demons are gone; Sam_ promised _the demons are gone._

Dean swallowed, putting his hands to the sides of his head and squeezing. He couldn't remember, why couldn't he iremember/i? Who was that woman he would talk about? Why was she so important? How did the guy eve know his name? Why did he cry when he found him crying on the ground, body aching from his last beating? Why did he leave? Who WAS he?

Tears of frustration filled Dean's eyes but he blinked them away, sun just starting to poke into the room. He kicked the blankets off and quickly changed clothes, setting off for downstairs with fierce determination. He was going to found out who that man was, and why he was so important.

**--**

Sam walked heavily down the stairs, clothes not yet on as he waited for the smell of Bobby's coffee.

Nothing.

Sam mumbled curses to himself, blinking his eyes rapidly to try and rid himself of the just-woken blur he kept seeing. He walked into the kitchen, almost not noticing all the books and photo albums and papers strewn across the table.

"...Dean?" Sam guessed.

"What?" came from behind the books, the voice stony and flat; Dean when he was concentrating.

"What... what?" Sam gestured to the books.

"I'm busy, Sam."

"Doing what?" Sam walked around the table to where Dean was hunched over, flipping through papers faded pictures.

"Who is this?" A picture was shoved in Sam's face before he could figure out what was happening.

"What the hell, Dean?" said Sam, backing away.

"This man! Who is he?" Dean demanded. Sam squinted at the picture.

"That's Dad." said Sam. "John."

Dean's stony face fell into one of almost shame, pulling the picture back to him gently and staring down.

"That's Dad?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, from a camping trip we took when I was two weeks old." said Sam. He pointed to a bundle in John's arms. "That's me, and that's you there next to him on the hood."

Dean was silent.

"What?" asked Sam.

"I know him." said Dean.

"Well, yeah. I mean, he was Dad-"

"No, I _know_ him! I saw him, in Hell, but I don't know why." said Dean.

"Dean," said Sam. "Dad, he's... he's in Hell, too."

"What?" asked Dean.

"He's in Hell. He sold his soul for you." said Sam. "We told you this yesterday, remember?"

Dean shook his head. "Why would he do that?"

"He loves you." said Sam. "The same reason you did it for me."

Dean frowned, staring down at the picture.

"Who's Mary?" Dean asked after a few moments.

"Mary? Why? Where'd you hear that name?"

"The guy-_Dad_-he talked about her sometimes." said Dean. "He said we needed to go see her."

Sam frowned, brow furrowing.

"What?" said Dean.

"Nothing, that's just... odd. Are you sure this wasn't a dream?"

"You don't forget things that happen in Hell, Sam." said Dean.

"And he said you needed to go see Mom?" asked Sam.

Dean nodded.

"What else did he talk about?"

"Different stuff. Things that happened when I was little, how proud he was of me, how much he wishes he could've given us a better life, how much he loves how close we are..." said Dean. "He'd always vanish whenever I tried to ask how you were, or who he was."

"Boys? Do you know what happened to my-" Bobby stopped at the entrance of the kitchen, eyeing the books on the table. "Nevermind. Dean, what is all this?"

"Dad." Dean answered.

"What?"

"He says he saw him in Hell." said Sam. "That he was there sometimes."

Bobby looked between the two younger men.

"Well, I guess that's possible. I mean, he's down there too. Are you sure it was him?" Bobby asked Dean.

"I'm sure. He looked just like he did in the pictures." said Dean.

"What did he say?"

"He said I need to go visit Mom, that something's wrong and we have to go fix it."

"Visit her? Like her grave?"

"I guess." Dean shrugged. "He said that something's wrong, there's something going on in Lawrence."

"Did he say what?"

"No!" Dean said annoyingly. "He just said I need to go see Mom!"

"Okay, okay." said Bobby. "I'll get working on the car and then we can leave."

"Fine." said Dean.

"You want to come help?" asked Bobby.

Dean looked at the picture frame in front of him, then at Bobby.

"Just... give me a minute." said Dean, turning the page. Bobby nodded, taking a quick look at Sam before walking out back door.

"You want something to eat?"

Dean motioned to the bread, peanut butter, and dirty knife on the counter.

"Oh,"

Dean sighed frustratingly.

"Why can't I remember?" he mumbled to himself.

"Dean?" said Sam. "How about you just go help Bobby, okay? Give yourself a break."

"I can't, I have to figure this out, Dad says I need to go help Mom and I think this'll help."

"Wearing yourself out mentally won't. You need to calm down." said Sam. "Go help Bobby. I'll put the stuff away, you just go."

Dean let out a defeated breath.

"Fine." he mumbled.

Dean pushed his chair away from his table, walking to the door and letting it swing close behind him.

* * *

Review, review, review!


	7. Changing The Oil

**Author's Note:** Hey, compadres. It's that time again... _Memories_ update time!! And I just realized that the last chapter's Author's Note rhymed. Crazy. And I also would just like to say, a very very very very _very_ huge thank you to all of you readers/reviews. Without y'all, I would be convinced I had not talent whatsoever. So thank you.

**Reviews:** Are ice cream bars. Flames are like the unpleasent cold headache.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it yet, but you just wait! But for the moment, I do own ice cream bars.

* * *

"Bobby?" Dean asked, leaning against the Camero's door.

"Yeah?" Bobby called from beneath the car.

"How long did you know my Dad?" asked Dean.

"Well, you were four, so about 25 years? Sounds about right." said Bobby. "Hey, Dean, get me the socket wrench."

"Socket wrench?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

Dean walked to the front of the car, looking through the tool box.

"Socket wrench..." Dean mumbled to himself, pulling out various tools in his quest. He stopped on one, picking it up and narrowing his eyes.

"What size attachment do you want?" asked Dean.

"Three-eighths."

Dean sifted through a tiny bag in the tool box, pulling out socket attachment of all different sizes. Finding the one Bobby asked for, he scooped all the other in and placed the tools back into the box. Putting on the attachment, Dean squatted and put the wrench into Bobby's awaiting hand.

"Thanks." said Bobby. Dean rested against the Camero, wiping his oily hands on his jeans.

"Did he ever talk about Mom?" asked Dean.

"What?"

"Dad, did he ever talk about Mom?" said Dean.

"Uh, yeah." said Bobby.

"A lot?"

"A fair amount."

"What did he say?"

"A bunch of stuff."

"Like what?"

Bobby sighed. "Different things. He didn't usually talk about her for that long."

"What did he say?"

"I don't know. Sometimes it would just be small memories that seemed to come to him. Other times he could talk about her for hours."

"What memories?"

"Things like their wedding, or an anniversary, or how happy she was when she found out she was going to have you, or a Wednesday. Just lots of things, Dean."

"She was happy when she was going to have me?"

"Oh, he said she was ecstatic." said Bobby. "John said they'd been wanting a kid ever since they married, and you finally came along. He said she bought all these new baby clothes, and made sure your nursery was just right, read all these parenting books..."

Dean smiled softly; his mother had loved him.

"What else did he say?"

"He said he missed her a lot. He loved her. Wished she could see you boys grow." said Bobby.

Dean toed the dirt with his boot, squinting in the bright sunlight.

"So Sam said a demon killed our Mom?" said Dean.

"Yeah."

"What kinda demon?"

Bobby slid out from beneath the car, sitting up.

"You really don't remember anything?"

Dean shrugged. "Not much. I mean, I don't really remember you."

Bobby sighed. "How about we get to demons later? You still need to re-learn your way around the car."

"Okay." Dean said quietly.

"There's a big black pan in the garage and right next to it is a big piece of cardboard; go get it and I'll teach you how to change the oil."

Dean nodded, jogging into the garage and, despite the mess, finding the two items quickly. He walked back to Bobby.

"You find it?" asked Bobby.

"Yeah."

"Okay, so what you're gonna do is first, you're gonna put the cardboard on the ground, lay on it, and scoot yourself under the car."

"Under? But what if it falls?"

"It's not gonna fall, Dean."

Dean sighed, but did as Bobby instructed.

"Now, near the front you should see a little bolt." said Bobby. "You see it?"

"Uh, I think so. It's on the big black thing."

"Good, that's what it should be on. Now, you're gonna slowly unscrew it with the socket wrench that's down there until it's about to come off," said Bobby.

"It's not working." said Dean. "The plug won't come off."

"Turn it the other way, then."

"Oh."

Bobby chuckled.

"Okay, it's almost off." Dean called. "What do I do?"

Bobby slid the oil pan under the car.

"There's the oil pan, now put it undernearth the bolt,"

"Now what?"

"Scoot back a little unless you want a mouth full of oil."

"I don't."

Bobby smiled as Dean's legs became more visible, hearing oil splatter into the pan.

"What do I do next?"

"Now we wait for it to finish draining.

Dean sighed. "Okay."

Dean pushed himself out from beneath the car and sat up, squinting in the light of the day and resting his hands on his knees.

"Hey Bobby?"

"Dean?"

"Why did we do this?" asked Dean.

"Fix cars?"

"_Hunt_." said Dean. "I mean... why would we do that? Why would anyone do that? Don't they know what the demons could do to them? How dangerous it all is?"

"Well, yes, but not everyone hunts. There aren't too many of us out there." said Bobby.

"How come we did it, though? Sam and my Dad and you? Why didn't we let other people do it?"

"We all hunt for different reasons, Dean. Your Daddy hunted for the thing that killed Mary; died before he could see the day it went to the Pit. You two just kept right on hunting after that."

Not everybody knows about the demons, Dean. Like I said, there aren't too many of us still out tracking and hunting. It's, well... it's our job, to protect the people who don't know who to do it themselves."

Dean chewed on his cheeks, his ring loose on his oily, slim finger.

"Why do you hunt?"

"Hmm?"

"You said Dad and Sammy and me, we hunted because of the thing that killed Mom, but you didn't say why you hunted."

Bobby sighed.

"Another time, Dean."

"Bobby-"

"Another time." Bobby said sternly. "Look, the oil's done draining. Now you can change the filter. Dean. Dean?"

Dean stared into the endlessly blue sky, his eyes hazy and unfocused in his memory.

**--**

_"Uncle Bobby?" asked the five-and-a-half year old, over-sized red Crayola filling his small hand as he scribbled a dress onto the yellow woman._

_"What is it, Dean-o? Your crayon die again?"_

_"No, it's still pointy," said Dean, showing the tip of his dulling Crayon._

_"Then what is it?"_

_"How come you go out and get rid of the demons like Daddy?" asked Dean._

_Bobby froze, hand clutching the bag of bread he was holding._

_"Excuse me?"_

_"Well, Daddy says we stay here sometimes because he gots to go get rid of the demon that took Mommy away. I heard Daddy talking 'bout how you go gots to get get rid of demons, too, but he won't tell me why."_

_"Dean, I don't really think we need to be talking about this."_

_"Did a demon take your Mommy, too?"_

_"Dean, drop it."_

_"Did it take your old dog? Scruffy? Is that why you gots Rumsfeld now?"_

_"Dean, I said drop it."_

_"Will you tell me?"_

_"Another time, Dean."_

_"Uncle Bobby-"_

_"Another time," said Bobby. By the pan hanging on the wall, he saw Dean's tiny face fall and his lip tremble. He sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment._

_"Guess what I got at the store today?" asked Bobby. Dean looked up, merely shrugging in response._

_"I got the ice cream bars, I know they're your favorite." said Bobby. Dean shot up, a newly brightened smile on his face._

_"Yay!"_

_"But we have to eat dinner first; I'm making sandwiches. Go get Sammy and then we can eat."_

**--**

"Dean? Dean!"

Dean snapped into focus, brought back by the loud voice calling his name. Blinking, he looked at Bobby.

"What?"

"What just happened?" asked Bobby. "You zoned out for a minute, there."

Dean thought. "I don't-I don't really know. I just, remembered something, I guess."

"What was it?"

"Uh, it was you, and me, and we were in your kitchen, I guess. I was coloring and you were making sandwiches-"

"To the point, Dean."

"I was asking question, about hunting, and I asked you about why you hunted. You got really angry with me and you kept saying 'Another time, Dean.' Then you said I could have an ice cream bar to make me happy again."

"I remember that," said Bobby. "You were five-and-a-half. Had to tell _every_body about how you were _five-and-a-half_."

Dean looked down at the dirty cardboard he was sitting on, hands laced together.

"Will you tell me, Bobby?" asked Dean. "Why you hunt?"

"Another time, Dean." said Bobby. "Now get back under the car; you've got to change the filter."

**--**

Lunch was eaten in relative silence, all three men tired from mental exhaustion as they picked at the pasta Sam had prepared.

"Well, I'm not hungry." said Dean, pushing his plate away and resting his elbows on the table.

"Me either." said Bobby.

Sam nodded, pushing his plate in front of him before slumping into the chair.

"I've got good news," said Bobby. "Finished the Camero, got it all up and running. We'll be able to leave tomorrow morning."

"We can't leave earlier?" Dean asked.

"I think we all deserve a good nights rest, Dean."

Dean let out something that sounded like a whine and pouted.

"Sam?" asked Dean.

"Hmm?" asked Sam, his eyes closed.

"What's an ice cream bar?"

Sam snorted, body shaking with him. "It's ice cream on a stick, covered in chocolate."

"What's chocolate?"

"Oh big brother, you have so much to remember." said Sam. "You got any, Bobby?"

"I think I've got some in the back..." said Bobby, getting up from his chair and striding to the small kitchen. Walking back after a minute, he held three ice cream bars.

"Do I just bite it?" asked Dean.

"Yeah," said Sam, sucking on the chocolate.

Dean studied the bar for a moment, watching ice crystals melt at the temperature before sticking it into his mouth and taking a large bite off the side. Chocolate mixed with vanilla as it melted in his mouth, coating his tongue in chills. Pure bliss surrounded him for all of a second before the pain kicked it. It hit right behind his eyes, making them squint as he grabbed at the ache.

"Holy mother-!" Dean shouted, nearly dropping his bar. He stamped his food on the hardwood, swallowing the ice cream bite whole and hissing in pain. Breathing heavily as the pain subsided, he looked at a smile Sam and Bobby.

"What the hell was that?" asked Dean.

"That'd be a cold headache, Dean. You get them when you eat cold things too fast."

"Does that always happen?"

"If you take giant bites." said Sam, licking ice cream off his finger.

Dean took an innocent lick, careful to avoid the ice cream, and enjoyed the rest of his icy treat.

* * *

Come on, you know you want to. I might even spare an ice cream bar for you!


	8. To Lawrence, For Missouri

**Author's Note: **Hey guys... it's been a while. A way-too-long-while, to be exact. My deepest apologies for such a late update; I've had an emotionally exhausting month and writing has been a difficult thing to do. Not an excuse, but an explanation. This chapter (finally) picks up the story and starts to move it along the conveyor belt marked PLOT, so be prepared! And the _italics_ are what Dean and Missouri are seeing.

**Reviews:** Reviews are like pie. Flames are like Sam forgetting the pie ("Dude. Where's the pie?").

**Disclaimer:** Ha HA! I just got a letter from Kripke & Co.! It says they've given me all rights to _Supernatural_!! But, wait... it says "April Fool's Day, loser!" on it. ...But it's not April Fool's Day! So that must mean I really do own it! Hold on, there's something written on the back... -**turns page over**- It says "Over my dead body. -Eric"  
-**sigh**-

* * *

"Sam?" Dean asked quietly as he gazed out the Impala's windshield.

"Hmm?"

"Why do you think Dad told me to go back there?" asked Dean.

"To Lawrence?"

"Yeah,"

"Well, I don't know, really. Something's obviously wrong there."

"But _what_?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm not the one having these dreams."

Dean sighed.

"I just want to know why. I want to know what's going on." said Dean.

"I know you do." said Sam, the sun peeking over the horizon.

In silence again, Dean chewed on his cheek.

"Tell me about Dad." said Dean, not looking away from the road in front of them.

"What?"

"Dad. Tell me about him. What he was like, the things he did, things he said."

Sam inhaled deeply, and took his time exhaling as he turned the steering wheel to the left.

"He was a good Dad, a great Dad, even if sometimes we didn't realize it. Took care of us, made sure we had an education," said Sam. "Up until college, anyway."

"What?"

Sam shook his head. "It's another story."

"Tell me."

"Not right now, Dean, okay? Later. I'll tell you later."

"Sam-"

"You wouldn't get it, anyway. Please?"

"Fine." Dean sighed. "Now, Dad?"

"He was controlling sometimes, though. Kinda wanted to run your life at times; it was like all he cared about was killing the demon that killed Mom."

"I killed it, right?"

"Right."

Dean nodded.

"What else?"

"He was really passionate about things. If he started something, he would always finish it. You were-iare/i-like that, too. You guys could never just leave something unfinished."

As Sam rambled on, listing similar traits and adding in small stories of their childhood, Dean drifted off to sleep.

**--**

"Dean? Dean. Wake up, man."

Dean swallowed, blinking his eyes blearily and scooting himself up on the suit.

"Wh're we?" Dean grumbled.

"Lawrence. C'mon, Bobby got us a room."

"Lawrence?" Dean asked, suddenly alert. "What time's it?"

"Quarter after 3," said Sam, Dean stretching in the seat. "We can get some stuff unpacked then we're gonna head out to go see Missouri."

"See what?"

"Missouri Moseley, she's a psychic. She'll be able to help us." said Sam.

"Do I know her?"

"Yes, you've met her before."

"Do you like her?"

Sam shrugged, stepping out of the car. "She's a nice person; knows a lot of helpful stuff."

Dean yawned and pushed out the door, grabbing the bag Sam handed him from the trunk and waiting.

"Come on, Bobby said the room's upstairs."

Sam set the last of his clothes into a dusty drawer as Dean took his time, running his hands over each article as if trying to pick the memories off of them.

"You almost done?" Sam asked.

"What? Oh, uh..." Dean looked at his half-full bag and then up at Sam.

"Here, let me help you." said Sam. Sam quickly went to work unpacking, loading things into the drawers and shoving the empty bag under the bed.

"Thanks," said Dean, shutting the drawer.

"No problem." said Sam. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah," Dean's stomach growled. "Could we get some food?"

"Sure, we'll pick something up on the way."

**--**

As they sat on the old couch, Missouri readying her things on the living room table, Dean looked around the room.

"Did we come here a lot?" Dean asked Sam.

"Well, I don't really remember." said Sam. "I was a baby."

"You did," said Missouri, speaking up for the first time since she let them in. "Very shy, you were. The only time you ever spoke was to say 'please' or 'thank you' when I offered you cookies I would bake. You were always hiding behind your father or sitting off in a corner, drawing pictures with your box of crayons."

"Do-"

"-I have any? No. No, your father would always take them, said he wanted to keep some memories of when you were younger." said Missouri.

Dean stared at her, slight shock on his face as she answered a question he never asked.

"Honey, I'm a psychic. That's what I do." she said, answering yet another. She gave him a warm smile. Missouri then looked over her shoulder and called, "Robert, I don't keep the liquor in there, so quit rummaging through my candle chest."

There was a light crash and Bobby cursed, "Damn psychics." He muttered, walking into the room.

Missouri lit the few candles on the table, the interesting pattern the made filling the room with an eerie feeling.

"Now Dean, come here, I need to hold your hands for this to work."

Sam gave Dean a reasssuring nod and he scooted forward on the couch, Missouri taking a seat in the chair across from him and holding out her hands. As Dean grabbed them, she closed her eyes.

"Nervous?" she asked.

"You're the psychic."

"Don't you sass me, boy." said Missouri. "Now close your eyes and try to picture your father. His face, his clothes; the sound of his voice would be very helpful."

Dean swallowed, but complied. He breathed deeply, palms sweating as he struggled to find his image.

"I said your father, Dean."

"I'm trying."

"Well honey, I don't think your father was a woman."

"I'm trying!" Dean insisted. He saw stars as he squeezed his eyes together, blurring his vision of the blond woman that appeared in his head.

**--**

_"Oh, Dean." the woman said softly, a hand reaching up to stroke his face._

_"Who are you?" Dean asked, his voice wavering as the hand touched his cheek._

_"Sweetheart, it's me." she said. "It's Mom."_

_Dean stared at her, heart beating faster with each passing second._

_"M-Mom?" he whispered. She smiled softly, sadly._

_"W-What are you doing here?" asked Dean. "What happened? Sam said you were dead."_

_"I am, Dean." said Mary. "And there's no changing that."_

_"But then how-how are you here? Where am I?"_

_"That doesn't matter right now, Dean." said Mary. "Now I need you to listen to me, Dean. Very carefully. Do you understand?"_

_Dean nodded, his mouth dry._

_"I need you to kill your brother for me."_

_The words were delivered in the same soft, motherly tone she had been using before, and Dean was almost gaping._

_"What?" asked Dean._

_"I need you to kill Sam. Soon." said Mary. "Very soon."_

_"But... why? He's my brother." said Dean. "Why would I dothat?_

_"Because, he's not safe anymore. He needs to be stopped. He's not like you, Dean. He's different."_

_"No he's not." Dean defended. "He's a person."_

_"I know this is difficult for you to understand, but it needs to be done. You'll understand soon, alright? You just have to promise me you'll do this one thing for me. Sam must be stopped."_

_Dean stepped back into the black that surrounded them, head slowly shaking in defiance._

_"Dean-" Mary began._

_"N-No." said Dean. "I won't do that. I_ can't _do that."_

_"Dean, I am your mother." said Mary sternly._

_"I won't do it." said Dean._

_"Kill him."_

_"No." said Dean, his voice clearer._

_"Kill him!" her voice had changed, to that of a young girl's. A very angry, little girl._

_"No!"_

_Before he knew it her hands had encircled his throat, thin fingers squeezing the breath out of him as her malevolent eyes frosted over to a bright white._

_"S-Sam..." Dean gasped, stars dancing behind his eyes again._

_"DEAN!"_

**--**

"Who are you?" Dean asked, eyes closed as he held Missouri's hand.

Sam looked at Bobby. "Dean?"

Dean was silent, and his face showed shock.

"M-Mom?" Dean whispered. "W-What are you doing here? What happened? Sam said you were dead."

Another pause, and Dean spoke again.

"But then how-how are you here? Where am I?"

"Is he okay?" Sam asked worringly.

"I don't know." said Bobby. "Missouri?"

"What?" Dean asked, slow surprise in his voice. "But... why? He's my brother. Why would I do that?"

"Dean? Come on, Dean. Open your eyes." said Sam.

"No he's not." Dean said defendingly. "He's a person."

"Dean, you need to open your eyes now. This isn't real, you're... dreaming." said Sam. "Dean? Dean!"

"N-No. I won't do that. I _can't_ do that." said Dean. He paused. "I won't do it."

There was a short pause before Dean said clearly, "No."

"Dean! Open your eyes!" said Sam, shaking him roughly.

"No!" Dean gasped for air, eyes fluttering rapidly as he struggled for oxygen.

"S-Sam..." Dean gasped.

"DEAN!" Sam shook his roughly one last time and the candles extinguished, smoke drifting upwards as Missouri's hands jerked away from Dean's.

Dean gasped for air, eyes finally open and darting across the room wildly.

"Dean! Dean? Dean, look at me."

Dean looked sideways at Sam, concern in Sam's eyes as Dean took notice of Sam's hands gripping his shoulders like he had been shaking him, trying to wake him up.

"Missouri? You okay?" Bobby asked, hand on her shoulder.

"In the cabinet," Missouri said quickly. "Go."

Bobby rushed to the cabinet and pulled it open. "Missouri, there's just some bottles of gin in here."

Missouri nodded and Bobby brought it over, searching for a glass.

"Do you want one from the kitchen-" he began, but Missouri had already pulled off the cap and taken a drink. She breathed heavily, a hand stroking her neck carefully.

"What happened?" Sam asked Dean. "Dean?"

"I-I don't know." said Dean. "It was black, everything, and I was trying to think of Dad like Missouri said but I kept seeing Mom.

"She was talking to me, and she was stroking my face and smiling at me all sad. She said I needed to do something for her. I was her son, I needed to listen to what she said."

"What did she say?"

Dean looked ashamed at the floor.

"She said..."

"Dean, it's okay. This'll help us figure out why Dad told you to come to Lawrence."

"She said I had to kill you, Sam." said Dean, eyes just shy of Sam's.

The room fell silent, Bobby stopping his pacing.

"She what?"

"She said I had to kill you, soon. She said I didn't understand right now but I would. She said you were... different. Not like us. You weren't safe anymore and I had to stop you."

"Did she say anything else?" Sam asked, a slight demand in his voice.

Dean shook his head. "But she got really mad, pissed off. She started screaming at me and her voice got really high and loud and she tried to strangle me." One of Dean's hand had found their way up to his neck and began to softly rub, memories of the fingers tightening around it.

"What do you mean her voice got high?"

"It was a childs voice." said Missouri, speaking up. "A little girl's, 9 at the oldest."

Dean nodded at Sam. "And her eyes got white, too. There wasn't any color in them, just white."

Missouri was fanning herself as Sam looked at Bobby, acknowledgement, worry, and annoyance on their faces.

"Do you think-" Sam began. Bobby shrugged.

"Who else could it be?" asked Bobby. "Ain't heard of a demon that could creep into minds like that before."

Sam sighed.

"What?" Dean asked. "What's wrong? Who was it?"

"Lillith."

* * *

I just pulled a pie out of the oven... anybody want a slice? Leave a review and I'll throw you a slice! Hope you have good reflexes...


End file.
